


Bullets // Julien Du Casse x Reader

by charredmountain



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: AC - Freeform, Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag, Black Flag, F/M, Fanfiction, One Shot, Pirates, Reader-Insert, Romance, Templars, The Templar Order (Assassin's Creed), aciv, assassins creed, assassins creed/reader, templar/reader, x Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 01:54:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18768790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charredmountain/pseuds/charredmountain
Summary: Frustration arises from futile attempts at shooting bull's eye, does Julien's guidance assist you or distract with his sultry accent and provocative teasing?





	Bullets // Julien Du Casse x Reader

Rounds of ammunition blaze, scattered metal pellets strewn across the arid dust as the piercing ring of bullets reverberates. The kickbacks knock your shoulder with ferocious jabs, leaving an aching pain to reside. A low whistle chimes from your right, followed by a chuckle of disbelief.

"Very impressive, ma chérie (1)"

You cast a sidelong glance, studying how his umber leather hat dipped just under his azure irises while a coquettish smirk rests on his angled face framed with layered chestnut locks and his ebony stubble stretching along the length of his taut jawline. An alabaster blouse loosely clings to the exposed plane of his robust build, held by belts enveloping his narrow waist as a velvet sash hastily conceals his chest, flowing off his back onto the swathe of his hazel baggy pants.

Retracting from your stupor, you squint at the distance to survey your aim. Holes pepper the battered cloth, all narrowly missing the red center marked with mocking scarlet. A scowl emerges from the crevice of your lips as you click your tongue.

"Julien, I missed"

An impish grin etches as he saunters towards you, the stray beige feather perched in his hat springing with exuberance. His earthy musk perks your senses, calloused hands directing your finger on the trigger and pushing your thumb to cock the gun.

"The trick is to concentrate solely on the target, forget about everything else. Focus, breathe."

Hairs prickle at his searing breath grazing over your neck, his soothing words mumbled with a smoky tone carries his foreign accent while his back brushes against yours, the ghost of his warmth leaves you reeling. He captures your slight stumble with a tightened grasp on your waist, keeping his amused gaze trained on your apologetic grin. 

Your attention flits back to the rows of targets in a feeble attempt to conceal your flustered state as you precipitously retain your grip once more.

"You might want to put your hands like this"

His figure envelops yours as he arranges your fingers and cups his palm around them securely as he rests his head on the dip of your shoulder to carefully inspect. Your agitation soars, breaths hitching and beads of sweat trickling down from the wave of scorching heat that spans the yard. He applies pressure on the digits surrounding the trigger, the stifling scent of sulfur mingles with the temperate crisp breeze as a raucous bang erupts from the pistol. The dirt scrunches under your feet as you edge closer to find a single puncture dead center.

"Oh my god"

You mumble in astonishment, sending a smile stretching ear to ear to which he replies with a tip of his hat.

"Bravo, ma belle. Encore (2)"

With a puzzled expression, you furrow your brows incredulously. He shifts to get you into the same position and teasingly whispers against the shell of your ear.

"Encore, mon coeur (3)"

You gulp at the proximity, incisors gnawing onto your supple lower lip as he draws lazy circles on your thigh. His strands of cocoa sweeps over the nape of your neck, earning a shudder as you struggle to level with the mark. Your thoughts drift to the lesson, remembering the crucial advice and you release slow exhales before striking the blot with precision.

"Voila (4)" You remark, aware of his lips edging towards yours. He falters, pleading your orbs for permission before you close the restricting void, the tang of tart rum palpable on his tongue. The pistol dully thuds against the ground, eliciting a gust of dirt to splatter. His threaded fingers settles on your hips while yours roam through his locks until he pulls back with a fleeting suck on your lower lip.

"Exactemente (5)"

\--

translations:

1) ma chérie // my darling

2) Bravo, ma belle. Encore // Well done, my beauty. Again.

3)Encore, mon coeur // Again, my heart.

4)Voila // There it is

5)Exactemente // Exactly


End file.
